64 PINES 
P. MoNntTANA var. PuMILIO.—~ 
Where the hill-side slopes from the covert to the peat-stained stream 
below, 
Small and of no reputation, the children of Nature grow: 
On broken banks—and ridges—and the fringe of the bog beneath— 
And out on the open spaces of the wide, eternal heath, 
E. M. MItts.. 
The P. Montana, like the Pinus Cembra, has its 
prostrate and creeping representative. The Montana 
elects to call his miniature edition by the name of 
Pumilio, while the Cembra has selected the word 
Pumila as an appellation for the pygmies of his tribe. 
In point of fact, and when translated, they are one 
and the same thing, these two words Pumilio and 
Pumilus, and what they signify also is one and the 
same thing, and that is “ dwarf,’’ or if you like to make 
use—and the dictionaries allow you the alternative— 
of an old word, fallen into disuse but retaining a good 
old Shakespearian ring about it, you may translate 
either of them, Pumilio or Pumilus, as Dandy-prat. 
Both these dwarf trees have a habit of forming them- 
selves into a thicket of creeping, trunkless, tangled 
undercover, which constitutes a retreat that the 
foxes and wilder beasts of the country-side frequent 
and adore, but through which glorious man can with 
but difficulty crawl his way. 
Two scenes in illustration of such a growth flit 
before my memory. The one a scene from Nature, 
a thick cover of P. Montana var. Pumilio, planted 
some years ago by J. Williams, of Scorrier (Cornwall), 
the other a portrayal of art in picture form, of the 
Cembran Dwarf Pine (the Pumila) growth, at some 
6,700 ft. above sea-level in Japan, and on the sides 
of a mountain named Ontake in the Island of Hondo. 
The photograph referred to was taken by E. H. 
Wilson in 1916, and appears in the publications of 
the Arnold Arboretum, No. 8, entitled Conifers and 
